Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Specter of Death- Part 19

Bill and Angela raced up the
stairs taking them two or three at a time. Without bothering to knock, he threw
his shoulder into the door jamb and crashed through. Gillian’s screaming
stopped when she saw her friends. Her bloody hands trembled as she rinsed them
under the tap. At her feet, a bottle of White Diamonds perfume had shattered to
pieces.

Gillian pulled her towel
tighter against her body as goose bumps prickled her flesh. Bill removed a
bathrobe from the hooks behind the door and draped it around Gillian’s
shoulders. She offered him a weak smile and muttered, “thank you.” Angela
returned a moment later with the first aid kit and proceeded to bandage up her
friend’s hands.

“So, are you going to tell us what happened?” she asked.

Gillian scowled. “It was my
own fault. I slipped as I was trying to—”

“How ‘bout the truth, instead,” interrupted Bill.

Angela nodded her agreement
and placed a reassuring hand on Gillian’s shoulder. “C’mon, Jilly, we’re your
friends and we’re worried about you. We can’t help if you’re not honest with
us.”

“I—I know. I just don’t want you to think I’ve gone off
my rocker. As it is, I’m starting to wonder myself… ever since the morgue.”

“That’s probably a good place to start then,” said Bill.
“Why don’t you get into some warm clothes and dry your hair first? We’ll wait
just outside the door in case you need us, okay?”

Gillian nodded. The instant
the bathroom door closed, she raced to dress in record time. While the thought
of telling her friends what was going on was less appealing than a four-hour
root canal, she hurried to not be alone.
True to their word, when she opened the door, Bill and Angela were
waiting for her.

Downstairs, the three friends flopped onto
Kim’s cozy sofa and settled in for Gillian’s story. Angela carried in a tray
with coffee and cookies; she had a feeling they’d be talking for a while.
Gillian’s first instinct was to chug the coffee.

“It’s decaf,” Angela said, smiling. “So drink as much as
you want.”

Gillian set the mug down,
grumbling that decaf coffee was sacrilege.

“It is but you do not need another drop of caffeine
coursing through your system, Jilly.” Bill answered. “So, let’s get to the
bottom of whatever is going on here. What happened in the bathroom?”

I should probably start before then,” Gillian admitted
with a sigh. “It all started the night we used the Ouija board at the morgue.
Someone or … something, touched me
when the lights were out. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and then it gave a
squeeze. It wasn’t Marie or Kenj and it wasn’t the firemen either. Believe me,
I wish it was. Then, as I was driving home I kept seeing a shadowy figure
following me. It crossed the road in front of me, it was lurking behind bushes;
it was in my rearview mirror. Then, when I came inside, and we were all on the
phone … I saw it in the yard. That night, it was in my room. At first, I
thought it was Angela, playing a prank. Or, I should say I hoped it was Angela.
It wasn’t. That brings us to the shower. Everything was fine. I had just turned
off the water because I got a chill. Sorry, Angela, I think I used up all the
hot water again. When I pulled back the curtain, it was there. I grabbed the
first thing I could reach to throw at it but before I could release it, the
thing’s hand enveloped mine and the bottle shattered. So, go ahead. Tell me I’m
crazy.”

Gillian looked down at her
bandaged hand and sighed. When she looked up, both Angela and Bill wore
matching expressions of concern.

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About Me

Horror Writer and Author of the "Journal of the Undead" series.
To see an excerpt of "Journal of the Undead: Littleville Uprising" go to the 6/13/13 Preview post under Archives.
Contact me at: leesg1023@yahoo.com
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